Page 124 of Camp Bliss
Even better than his Jedi-like skills?
He doesn't hide that he likes me. That he enjoys being with me. That he’s happy to see me.
The days are getting shorter, so our daily rec time—that I’m still planning and is still the highlight of my day after my goodnight kiss and my sneak-attack kiss—is either earlier these days or after dark.
It wasn’t very original, but last night I walked him out to the dock where I’d put my Solo Mesa stove, already loaded up with fuel pellets, and we made s’mores while the stars came out. He freakin’ loved it.
And a few days ago, when I took him mushroom hunting in the woods, showed him what to look for and what to avoid, and we came back with enough chanterelles for a really delicious pasta dish—with a snail butter recipe I tweaked just a little—you’d think I was some kind of sorceress. He ate every last bite and moaned as he dragged a finger through the last of the sauce in the pan. He couldn’t stop talking about it.
Like the mushrooms weren’t already just growing in the woods but were there because of some fairy magic I’d performed.
Like the recipe wasn’t one I’d found online, but composed on the spot like some kind of hippy Martha Stewart.
Yeah, I’m gonzo for him. And by all accounts, I think he’s gonzo for me.
So what is my problem?
Because I’m the one who asked to go slow, I know Zach is waiting for me to be the one to move us forward. And that’s not just about sex. It’s about defining who we are to each other and what exactly we’re doing.
At least, that’s what I think it is.
I wanted to go slow because it felt safer. Because if I went into this carefully, thoughtfully, I’d somehow be able to protect myself.
That I could be sure that I wouldn’t get hurt again.
But I’m realizing that there’s a huge flaw in this plan. Because it doesn’t matter how fast or slow we go. Even if we never left the doorstep, I could still get hurt.
I’m already past the point of no return.
Hell, that point might have already been in the rearview way before our first kiss. And looking back, I know I was past it that night when his mom let it slip that he’d had Hodgkin’s Disease. Because hearing that gave me just a hint of how I would feel if I lost him.
For an instant, the knowledge that he’d had a life-threatening disease—cancer!—made me picture a world without Zach.
And I didn’t like it one bit!
Sure, my world had been without Zachary Rousseau for twenty-seven years. But in comparison?
That world just wasn’t as bright as this one.
Or as full.
Or as fun.
And I don’t want to go back there.
Ever again.
And now I’m stuck because I love it here. I love every part of my life.
And that might even mean that I love Zach.
Which is scary as all fuck because what if we break up?
“WHAT IF WE BREAK UP?” I blurt.
Okay. Maybe I shouted it.
Judging by the wide-eyed look Zach is giving me with a new bag of sand balanced on his shoulder and cute pit stains under his arms, I did shout it.
